


Everything I Wanted

by Badnewsforsure



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Destiny, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fate & Destiny, M/M, Magic, Past Lives, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:01:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22486003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Badnewsforsure/pseuds/Badnewsforsure
Summary: Jaskier is a modern day pop star plagued with dreams he can't remember. It isn't until he takes a vacation that things begin to come into focus."I had a dreamI got everything I wantedNot what you'd thinkAnd if I'm being honestIt might've been a nightmare"-Billie Eilish
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 51
Kudos: 344





	1. Chapter 1

Jaskier hadn't done much traveling before he got famous. He was too poor back then. After, he spent two years working his ass off nonstop for his music and his fans. After his last album, Dandelion Boy, he decided it was time for a break. He traveled to a remote town in Poland, where most people either didn't care or had too little free time to follow famous English pop singers.

They had just drove in, and he's tired. Jaskier has his head against the window, watching little stores and houses pass by. It's a cute town. He'd say quaint but he isn't a sesquipedalian. He almost snorts. The thought itself is a paradox, and a stupid one at that.

He takes a drink from the water bottle beside him and then settles back against the window, watching the buildings go by. His eyelids are beginning to droop and after a moment of fighting it back, he lets it happen. He's never been happier that he brought his two favorite bodyguards, Erin and Triss, with him. Now Jaskier doesn't need to drive; his eyes are far too heavy for driving.

_..=.._

_Watching. He was quietly watching the man. With the white hair and bright, golden eyes. Jaskier has taken to calling him the White Wolf for the predatory look these features gave him. They've been traveling together for months, seen parts of each other rarely shared with other people. This was far more true for the White wolf than it was for Jaskier, but the singer was more of an open book than the quiet man anyways. This meant that when Jaskier shared something new, it was very personal, but not extremely surprising. On the other hand, when the White Wolf shared, it usually was a very intimate and quiet moment; a story told by the dying embers of a fire as they both settled down for the night._

_But he wasn't being quiet now. He was fighting. With her. The scary woman who wasn't good for him. The one who made him wild, and talkative, and cruel. When she finally storms off, there's a tense feeling radiating from the White Wolf._

_Jaskier stands and shrugs, it had always been his job to lighten the weight of a friend's tired shoulders, today would be no different. With a shimmy to his shoulders he descended the hill, close to the White Wolf while still being above him. "What a day. I imagine you're probably-"_

_"Dammit Jaskier!" That made him step back. Never, in the many times the White Wolf had been annoyed, had he ever yelled at the singer. He had shouted, really only spoken just barely above a normal volume using an aggressive and exasperated tone. He'd grunted, groaned, cursed,and even given the silent treatment. Never yelled. It was dramatic, too emotional to be the man Jaskier knew. "Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days it's you, shoveling it?"_

_"That's not fair," he defended himself quietly. Because it wasn't. Jaskier had been there through everything. The good, the bad and every shit storm in between. And it had fucking sucked some days. Like that time he had scrubbed dried gunk out of his coarse white hair. Or when spent a whole week in silence because he forced the man to spend some coin on a dinner that had gotten them both sick. Or every single time that woman made an appearance on their travels. It was then he realized that the White Wolf had been speaking._

_"...If life could give me one blessing it would be to take you off my hands."_

_Oh. That hurt. That really hurt. I half expected him to say something more. Something that would make it hurt less. But nothing. Silence. The type of silence that forced the hurt of the words cut deeper. Jaskier could feel his body get ready to cry. His throat felt tight and his eyes stung with the beginnings of tears, his knees felt weak. He had to get out of here._

_"Alright then," he paused, fighting tears back. The man didn't deserve to know how much his words hurt. "I'll see you around."_

_His legs felt too shaky_ , _the sky feels_ _like it's pressing down on him. Suddenly, he's falling-_

_..=.._

With a jolt Jaskier is awake, his dream already floating out of his minds reach. A small part of his brain panicked at the feeling of the dream slipping away, so much so that he heard himself whine. His brows furrowed as tried to grasp the memories of the dream, but it was no use. It had already sunk too deep into his subconscious to be reached. Another whine and he was stretching out his back, waking up fully. When he finally stopped squirming in his seat, he looked up to the front of the car.

The bodyguard in the passenger's seat, Erin, looks back. He gives a slight smile. "We're almost to the motel, you can rest for a bit more."

"People make bodyguards sound so badass and scary. If only they knew the truth," he chuffed.

Erin opened his mouth, but Triss was the first to speak. "People make singers seem so dramatic and self-absorbed. If only they- oh wait, that is the truth." Her voice may have sounded serious, but she had a massive smug grin on her face as Erin laughed loudly; Jaskier acted as if he'd been physically hurt by the comment.

"You wound me Triss, I don't know if I can recover from that one. Might as well retire while I still have some dignity."

They were all laughing when the motel finally fell into view. Quickly enough Triss had them parked in an empty spot and they were headed inside with their bags and everything. Renting two rooms was an easy endeavor, especially when using cash instead of credit. This whole entire trip would be all paid for in cash. So far it was nice and peaceful. Jaskier could only hope that stayed true throughout at least the next five days. To ensure some sight-seeing as well as some much needed R&R. A pretty great plan if Jaskier is honest. However, if he's being less honest, it was all his idea and he hadn't got it from Erin one morning after a rough night of dealing with paparazzi. They all needed this break. Desperately.

There are two beds in each of the rooms, and Triss had made it very clear that there was planning to be done. Boring stuff. After gathering his stuff together Jaskier excused himself for a much needed shower, picking up his bags and choosing a room at random. They let him go, a tablet between them as they waved their acknowledgement.

The water pressure in the shower was just a bit too high, beating down onto his skin. It was the perfect temperature though, and it let Jaskier think. At first he was ignoring his train of thought, choosing instead to hum a song he didn't write as he rubbed out the muscles on his arms and shoulders. After loosening up Jaskier rolled his shoulders back and He washed his body with his citrus soap and then started on his hair.

It was then he couldn't ignore his thoughts anymore. He thought about falling asleep in the car. And in the plane before that. And in his bed the night before that. For almost two months now, he kept falling asleep and then waking up feeling like he was missing something. Something important. Every time without fail he would try to grasp for memories of his dream he never had any luck.

Realizing he had been scrubbing his hair for too long, he quickly rinsed then ran conditioner through it while continuing to scratch at the part of his mind that felt like where his dream sat, waiting to be remembered.

Just before Jaskier gave up the task, a feeling of sad and frustrated and heartbreak hit him so hard he was almost brought to tears. His breath stumbled in his chest. He felt like punching something and being held by someone. His heart hurt. Jaskier forced himself to breathe, putting his forehead to the off-white shower wall. When he finally calmed down, he forced himself to finish showering without thinking, even as he dried off and put lotion on his face.

It was only when Jaskier was wearing his pajama pants and laying in bed that he allowed himself to think about what the hell had happened. He felt like he was able to classify his dreams as being semi-normal. Every once and awhile, he'd have a very vivid dream, and he'd wake up freaking out or crying. But never, after fully waking up, and realizing it had all been a dream, had Jaskier ever been affected. Not even bringing into play just how strong he felt the emotion. The whole thing felt new and uncomfortable.

The door to his room opened, and Jaskier startled, flailing to sit up in bed.

"Whoa, calm down. It's Triss." At hearing his bodyguard's voice, he fell back into bed, heart racing.

"You could have at least knocked."

"Erin and I have been talking for two hours, I had assumed you'd be asleep."

"Yeah, well," Triss had a point. It was rare that it took Jaskier more than an hour to shower and get to bed. So with a pout, he said, "you know what they say about assuming. It makes an _ass_ out of _u_ and _me_."

Triss scoffed. "Spelling puns are a new low for you. You'd better get to sleep before your sense of humor gets worse."

Jaskier thought about saying something back, but Triss was right. There wasn't really much he could say back. Giving a short hum, Jaskier rolled onto his side and closed his eyes, thoughts drifting absently around in circles and loops as he fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck it. I was planning on this chapter being a little different, but life slapped me so hard across the face I've spent the past month trying to get my shit together, so things are changing.

..=..

_Pain. A deep hit in his heart and a stinging in his palms and shins. He doesn't feel much past that. He woke up alone in a very quiet space. It takes him a moment to remember why he feels so hurt. But then he remembers. The fight. The White Wolf yelling. Walking away. Falling as his vision went black._

_Fuck._

_Jaskier opens his eyes, looking around to see his stuff neatly piled in one corner of the room. And beside him is a nightstand, on top of which is a piece of parchment with a small yellow flower lying on top. The heels of his hands are wrapped in cloth and the smell of yarrow floats near him. Bandages._

_Turning back to the paper, Jaskier gently grabs the dandelion with one hand and the paper with the other. Jaskier almost immediately recognized it as a paper from his songbook. He slowly unfolded it, laying the flower in his lap._

_"Jaskier,_

_The room is paid for two nights. Be careful with who you trust."_

_At the bottom left of the page a small wolf emblem sketched out, and Jaskier can't stop himself from running his fingers over it. The paper is sunken there, as if the White Wolf had pressed too hard into the paper when drawing it._

_Fuck," He sighs._

_That mother fucker. Honestly. Here Jaskier was, ready to go sing some sad songs, earn some coin and tell himself he was better off without the White Wolf._

_But of course this bastard just couldn't let him do that, oh no. He takes care of his wounds and drops him at an inn, paying enough that Jaskier has time to get some plans in order. And of course he doesn't stop there, at basic needs as he almost always did when they were on the road. The man not only writes a letter, but he goes out and finds this ridiculous yellow flower. As if he remembers the time Jaskier told him a field of dandelions is the most beautiful thing he ever saw. A passing comment in the middle of an admittedly long winded ramble._

_A drop of wet hits the paper and Jaskier realizes he's crying._

_Fuck._

_He couldn't even deny it to himself._

_Jaskier already missed the white haired man. He missed-_

_..=.._   
  


A cold hand shakes him awake and a voice calls his name, forcing the dream away from him. Eyes crack open, toes stretch to the bottom of the bed, spine hunches like a scared cat. He's awake. He feels stiff and sad; he almost feels less rested than when he went to bed, but he's awake.

"Are you alright?"

A moment longer of silence then a noncommittal hum. Jaskier may not feel alright right now, but getting up and ready for the day is sure to help. His hand comes to rub a bit of sleep from his eyes only to find his cheeks are wet. "Shit, was I crying? Sorry if I woke you up."

Triss patted Jakier's shoulder. "Nah, just thought you might wanna get out of your dream."

"Thanks," he yawned.

She flashed a smile. "We heard there was a farmer's market. It's close enough that we could walk there if we wanted."

Wow. I can't remember the last time I was allowed to _walk_ somewhere, because it wasn't usually a safe way to travel when overly-intense fans and paparazzi could be anywhere, waiting to see something they shouldn't. But here. No one knew they were coming here. Jaskier can do whatever he wants. Well, within reason. After telling Triss he would love to go, Jaskier was left by himself to get up and ready for the day. For a moment he poked at the wall between his dream and his consciousness, quickly giving up with the memory of last night still fresh in his mind.

~=~

They arrived at the market by ten, hungry for a late breakfast with cash in all or their pockets. The air smelled like plants and pastries and freshly cut fruits. The area was teeming with people exploring booths and browsing stands. Jaskier found the almost festival-like excitement bubbling around them entirely new when paired with the scenery; it made him giddy with the knowledge of his own anonymity. Being famous had left him anxious when faced with public places. Not that he didn't like meeting fans, it was nice to know he made an impact in other people's lives. It was a bit like sweets, in the sense that it can get to be too much.

Jaskier was drawn to a booth smelling of cinnamon and icing and dough. Erin hadn't yet relaxed into the setting, clothes a pair of khaki pants and a white button down, although it wasn't tucked in his stiff posture spoke volumes of his professionalism. He continued to watch Jaskier from the fruit booth next door, and Triss wandered over to a booth with sundresses, looking completely in her element in stylish cropped jeans and a striped shirt. It quickly became clear that Triss was treating this as a legitimate vacation when she walked down a few booths to buy a hat and a smoothie stopping to talk to the girl running a few jewelry tables.

Jaskier and Erin were trailing in her general direction, sparing a few purchases at patisserie, berry and fruit and instrument stands. Now Jaskier had a lute (it's a cool instrument, okay?) strapped across his back while he shared a brown bag of cherries, raspberries, and strawberries with Erin. They had already finished the sticky cinnamon rolls.

It wasn't until noon that they finally saw Triss again, the woman suddenly grabbing at their shoulders and steering them out of the pottery booth.

"I just found the coolest thing ever,"

Jaskier didn't say anything, but he raised an eyebrow in silent judgment. Triss may be a bit rough around the edges, but she was easily entertained. One time she spent a full hour doodling the patterns of a hotel ceiling while mumbling. So her saying she found the coolest thing ever wasn't very promising.

Today, however, there seemed to be some actuality to her statement as she brought them to a white marble statue. One of those statues you almost don't believe isn't real because how could anyone carve rock so precisely. It was a warrior. Rugged with hair past his shoulders tied in a messy half pony, his the loose torso of his shirt tucked into high-waisted pants that were tucked into boots. The warriors sword was drawn, but it was obvious that he was displaying an 'I mean no harm' posture. He was on one knee, head bowed slightly with one large hand facing palm toward the sky. His right arm winged out to his fingers firmly grasping the hilt of his while the blade was flat against his forearm, continuing several inches past his elbow.

"Wow. It's amazing."

Jaskier found himself walking up and kneeling in front of the statue's face. There was something too familiar about it; as if he'd seen it before. For a moment Jaskier tried to think if he had seen the statue online somewhere, but the face forced too many emotions out of him. He wanted to cry but part of him just couldn't understand why.

"What's his story," Jaskier turned to Triss.

She walked over to a plaque at the statues side and began reading. "The Cursed Warrior. Long ago this warrior came into town to find the townspeople tormented by a witch. The citizens begged the warrior to kill the witch and save the town, and he accepted. Knowing the witch was a cynical, mistrustful woman, he tricked her into believing he loved her so he could get close to her. When she found out about the deceit, she turned the warrior into marble, cursing him to remain until his soulmate held his hand and freed him." Triss laughed. "We need to get a picture of you holding his hand."

A few people were passing by, glancing over the trio as Triss took out her phone and trained her camera on Jaskier, motioning for him to grab the statue's open hand. Obediently, he put his hand on the sun warmed marble, smiling at the phone. He felt a little distracted by the sensation of it. Jaskier could almost imagine the feeling of those detailed carvings of fingers curling over his hand, holding his hand contentedly.

Triss dropped her phone, mouth hanging open in shock. It was then he realized, he wasn't imagining it. The stone hand really was curling over his own.

Oh fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like it, please comment because I need the love, aaaaaannnnd, I guess tell me what you wanna see next.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I....yeah
> 
> Sorry it's so short

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent most of my impromptu hiatus on a Namjin fic...so if you wanna read that please feel free.

_Oh fuck._

The grip was too strong for Jaskier to pull away, but he tried anyway, falling on his hip. He watched as the statue saturated into color and softened, like a scene from a movie.

Triss and Erin were yelling, but it sounded like he was underwater, unable to process the words past garbled background noise. It wasn't until thick arms yanked at his waist trying to pull him away from the not-statue.

A low wheeze left gray-toned lips. It was barely able to be classified as a sigh with the small force behind it. But Jaskier knew that sound as if it had been with him his entire life. It was him. This warrior. He was the same one Jaskier had been dreaming of. The White Wolf. The revelation hurt. Hurt like his windpipe was being crushed, like dirt had been thrown in his eyes.

It was then that Jaskier was brought back to the moment and began fighting. The arms around his waist. His grip on the hand in front of him tightened and he began attempting to pull it towards himself as his free hand scrambled to push at the arms gripping his middle.

"Stop! Stop! He's trying to say something!"

Everything suddenly halted, the air surrounding them almost jarringly quiet. And then he spoke. The warrior's voice was like gravel through air, deep and ramped and _old._ "Y-" his eyes had finally returned to their unique glowing-amber hue. " _Jask…"_

His voice was barely a pained whisper, and the singer couldn't stop his hand from pressing to dry lips. "Don't. We'll talk later." He turned to his bodyguards, but before he could open his mouth to ask, Triss spoke.

"We need to get you guys out of here, people have already started recording," Jaskier glanced past her and saw the phones, feeling his level of panic rising. "Erin, should I get the car, or do we just walk back?"

Erin looked around, contemplating. "It would be faster to get the car, but Jaskier would be a sitting duck with all the cameras; we should just walk back."

The bodyguard moved in arms reach of the no-longer-statue, ready to pull him up, but Jaskier already had the warriors arm over his shoulder, heaving him up with a grunt. When Erin moved to take some of the weight off the singer, the man shifted out of the way, pulling Jaskier further under himself. The singer didn't seem to mind much, though, simply handing his lute to Triss and adjusting his shoulders. Despite the other's broader frame, Jaskier seemed to be handling the extra bulk quite well. He didn't even complain when members of the small crowd formed around them began bumping into him and jostling the weight.

Erin did his best to keep people off them, but with Triss making a path through the crowd up front, he could only do so much. He focused on keeping people as far away as possible, but some stray hands still pulled at their clothes.

By the time they were halfway to the hotel, Jaskier had beads of sweat running down his temples. He was pretty sure he could make it though. Until the front of his shoe tapped an uneven bit in the rode and he stumbled, only just barely catching himself on a lamppost.

"You okay?" It was Erin, eyes still scanning the area as if everyone was a threat.

"I'm fine, I just need a second." He looked to his shoulder, at the head resting on it. "I had been hoping you'd weigh closer to an actual white wolf."

A low breath, then a baritone "Geralt" vibrates through Jaskier's back.

"Jaskier," he replies. "I'm a relatively successful indie-pop singer in the UK."

The sound he made in response was somewhere between ' _I know'_ and ' _what does that mean'_. Jaskier didn't quite know what to say back. Instead, he focused on putting his feet back under himself. 

"I think we've rested long enough. If I wait any longer I won't be able to get up."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier begins to piece together the meaning of everything that's been happening.

_ Oh fuck. _

The grip was too strong for Jaskier to pull away, but he tried anyway, falling on his hip. He watched as the statue saturated into color and softened, like a scene from a movie.

Triss and Erin were yelling, but it sounded like he was underwater, unable to process the words past garbled background noise. It wasn't until thick arms yanked at his waist trying to pull him away from the not-statue.

A low wheeze left gray-toned lips. It was barely able to be classified as a sigh with the small force behind it. But Jaskier knew that sound as if it had been with him his entire life. It was him. This warrior. He was the same one Jaskier had been dreaming of. The White Wolf. The revelation hurt. Hurt like his windpipe was being crushed, like dirt had been thrown in his eyes.

It was then that Jaskier was brought back to the moment and began fighting. The arms around his waist. His grip on the hand in front of him tightened and he began attempting to pull it towards himself as his free hand scrambled to push at the arms gripping his middle.

"Stop! Stop! He's trying to say something!"

Everything suddenly halted, the air surrounding them almost jarringly quiet. And then he spoke. The warrior's voice was like gravel through air, deep and ramped and  _ old.  _ "Y-" his eyes had finally returned to their unique glowing-amber hue. " _ Jask…"  _

His voice was barely a pained whisper, and the singer couldn't stop his hand from pressing to dry lips. "Don't. We'll talk later." He turned to his bodyguards, but before he could open his mouth to ask, Triss spoke.

"We need to get you guys out of here, people have already started recording," Jaskier glanced past her and saw the phones, feeling his level of panic rising. "Erin, should I get the car, or do we just walk back?"

Erin looked around, contemplating. "It would be faster to get the car, but Jaskier would be a sitting duck with all the cameras; we should just walk back."

The bodyguard moved in arms reach of the no-longer-statue, ready to pull him up, but Jaskier already had the warriors arm over his shoulder, heaving him up with a grunt. When Erin moved to take some of the weight off the singer, the man shifted out of the way, pulling Jaskier further under himself. The singer didn't seem to mind much, though, simply adjusting his shoulders despite the other's broader frame. He didn't even complain when members of the small crowd formed around them began bumping into him and jostling the weight.

Erin did his best to keep people off them, but with Triss making a path through the crowd up front, he could only do so much. He focused on keeping people as far away as possible, but some stray hands still pulled at their clothes.

By the time they were halfway to the hotel, Jaskier had beads of sweat running down his temples. He was pretty sure he could make it though. Until the front of his shoe tapped an uneven bit in the rode and he stumbled, only just barely catching himself on a lamppost.

"You okay?" It was Erin, eyes still scanning the area as if everyone was a threat.

"I'm fine, I just need a second." He looked to his shoulder, at the head resting on it. "I had been hoping you'd weigh closer to an actual white wolf."

A low breath, then a baritone "Geralt" vibrates through Jaskier's back.

"Geralt," he repeats back. The name feels too familiar, like early sunbeams lining the edges of barely closed blinds. A part of him wants go back to sleep and deal with everything later. However; there's another part of him wants to reach toward the the blinds and open them, if only to stretch in the sunlight. "I'm Jaskier," he replies. "I'm a relatively successful indie-pop singer in the UK." He almost immediately regrets speaking.

The sound he made in response was somewhere between ' _ I know'  _ and ' _ what the fuck does that even mean' _ . Jaskier didn't quite know what to say back. Instead, he focused on putting his feet back under himself. 

"I think we've rested long enough. If I wait any longer I won't be able to get up."

  
  


~~~

Sitting on the bed while Jaskier stared at him from a chair 2 meters away was slightly uncomfortable, to say the least. He wasn't babbling about the lyrics to a new song or some fine maiden he spent a night of passion with. Geralt wondered if he should speak, but just when he decided to string a sentence together, Jaskier broke the silence.

"Why are you in my dreams?" 

How very straightforward of him. Unusual. There was a lot that seemed like it would be very different about the singer. Things that Geralt had never imagined changing. The voice was a little brighter, hair a little redder, shoulders broader, hands a little softer, heartbeat a little faster. He smelled different too; strange like citrus and wood and something else he couldn't name. But his eyes were the same shade of blue, his soul shining with the same intensity just behind them.

"They weren't dreams. They were memories. Of a past self."

Jaskier scoffed. "So you're telling me," he stood from his walking half the distance to Geralt before starting to pace. "That some ancient witch turned you into stone and cuz you blew your shot with me in my last life?"

Geralt grunted "She wanted me to know what it felt like to lose hope. To wait for a freedom that could take millennia to reach."

Jaskier's eyes squinted, then widened. That couldn't mean; "You were alive in that statue?"

Geralt gave a gentle hum. This Jaskier was more sensitive. The old Jaskier would have only smiled, clapped his shoulder and asked for the details. He wonders if he should have been gentler, maybe even lied. But no; Jaskier had never been a fan of being lied to, and Geralt couldn't imagine something like  _ that  _ changing. So he stays quiet, allows the musician time to take in the information.

It takes a quiet moment then a calloused hand raked through almost-auburn hair. A heavy sigh, and then blue eyes met gold. "Are you hungry? You're probably hungry. Do you want burgers? We could probably get them delivered. Or maybe tacos-"

Geralt doesn't quite understand what much of that means, but he doesn't really care so he just grunts laying back on the bed and throws one arm behind his head and the other to rest on his stomach.  _ Fuck _ he's tired. Statue or not he hasn't slept in  _ centuries _ and although the bed is too soft and warm from the stiff position and harrowing weather he's used to, his eyes drift closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm uh....sorry? I honestly have been working on 12 different stories plus irl stuff... and some how this was put on the back burner. I'm gonna work on being better about that.... but it'll be a slow process.
> 
> On the other hand I hope you enjoyed it and I'd love to hear your feedback in the comments.


End file.
